All I Ever Wanted
by Uchiha Mira
Summary: When Bra is born, Vegeta devotes all his attention to her. Trunks is ignored, and it feels like he's losing his father.... again. This is his bitter POV on the subject.


Disclaimer: I do not own DB/Z/GT. I've seen the teasers for GT in English, though, and frankly I don't WANT to own that!!! They have BUTCHERED it!!!! I loved it in Japenese, but could they keep the awesome theme song??? Noooooooooooo!!! Had to replace it with some cheap rap thing!!! *grumbles away to self* Sorry 'bout the rant, folks!!! I'll stop now...... *grumbles a little longer for good measure*

A/N: This story was inspired by the song "Perfect" by Simple Plan. For anyone who's seen GT, Trunks and Vegeta grow apart after Bra is born. If I were Trunks, I'd be just a teensy bit bitter about that, wouldn't you? So, this is my interpretation of what my studly hunk-a-bunk of lavender hotness (I just had to put that in for ya, Tenshi!! ~_^) would be feeling when he and Vegeta have grown apart altogether. It's not a pleasant subject for me to write, as I wish they could have stayed close like they were in the Buu saga....*sigh* Life has such bitter disappointments, doesn't it?

All I Ever Wanted

All I ever wanted was to make my father proud. To see him look at me with respect, to be on the receiving end of one of his rare smiles. I've never really grown up, I guess. I'm always clinging to stupid things like that. I should have known, should have realized that dreams rarely become reality...and even when they do, it's not very long until you wake up.

In all my life, I can only recall my father saying those words once. "You've made me proud". Only once, and I'm already seventeen. And that was right before he died...pathetic, isn't it? It takes a situation like that to get the words out. 

Not that I was thinking that at the time, though. No, I was shocked and overjoyed when he said it...I could have cried right on the spot - I honestly could have - but I had to keep my image up. Tears aren't exactly the kind of thing to impress my father. I think I can say, though, that it was one of the happiest moments in my childhood.

I snort. That in itself is piteous. It hurts, when you think about it. My problem is, I can't STOP thinking about it. But I'm beginning to get off topic. 

There were a few blissful years when I could sense my wish was true without having to hear the words spoken out loud. It was after my father had been brought back to life. We spent a lot of time together, mostly training, but those days seemed like living in heaven itself. He would be as gruff as ever, of course, showing me no mercy when we sparred, always driving me relentlessly to better myself. "A warrior can never be too strong," he would say, in that important-sounding voice he always gets when he talks about battle or Saiyan heritage. "The slightest bit of power can decide between victory and defeat."

And so, wanting to please him, I would train right alongside him, and in turn was never disappointed in the results of my efforts. I noticed every smirk or smile he cast in my direction, every sharp, approving nod of the head. I knew he was uncomfortable with words (my mother often tells me so), so we unofficially worked out our own code through body language. I could tell if he was proud of me from his posture, his stride...but most importantly, his eyes. 

I can remember one incident after a particularly brutal training period. He had worked me exceedingly hard that day, not even allowing me to gain a few punches to boost my confidence before he came on the offensive. He came at me as if we were really battling, each move and maneuver aimed to hurt. I held my own, however, surprising him not only with the strength and agility I had attained, but also my perseverance, even when I knew the victory would be his. 

The match ended, me bruised and bloodied considerably, yet elated that I had done so well. He was leaving to take a shower as always, but this time he paused for a brief moment beside me, and rested his hand gently atop my head. 

I'll never forget that. My father has always been rough and somewhat insensitive...yet the gentleness which seemed to flow from his fingers as they rested there....it almost felt like he didn't want to hurt me, and absurdity after the intense beating I had just received. 

And so we stood there, his hand laid softly on my head, not moving, and me lost in a pool of happiness and contentment like I'd never known. Even when he withdrew his hand and walked briskly away without so much as a glance in my direction, I remained in my cloud of euphoria. Despite my fatigue, injuries and my age (for I was nearly 10 by then), I literally skipped out of the gravity chamber. 

The moments such as that, and the bond which seemed to develop and grow between us, continued for a few years. We spent many hours together, often with Mom, too; going on outings or even just sitting down to dinner together, little things like that. It really felt like a family then. And I didn't have to just stand up to him in battle to earn his respect, either. He became less reluctant and begrudged to do things with me and take me places. He would grumble about it and act angry, of course, but I could see straight through that facade, and he knew it. He became a real father to me, while still remaining that strong, domineering figure that I had always idolized and looked up to. And all the while, I could sense somehow that he was proud to call me his son. 

But of course, all good things must come to an end. I suppose in my blissful state I didn't realize, or refused to realize, this unavoidable fact of life. The end of my close relationship with my father came with the birth of my sister, Bra. 

Don't get me wrong, I love my sister. Sure she can be a pain sometimes - well, a lot of the time - but she's still my sister for Kami's sake. And I don't hold anything against her because of her closeness with Dad. It's not her fault that everybody just naturally flocks to her. 

I find myself in a curious situation. I'm not exactly jealous of Bra; Kami knows I don't want all the attention she gets. But I can't deny the pain I feel every time I see her and Dad together. But I'm getting too far ahead again.

I suppose that part of the reason Dad moved on from me is my fault. No, not fault, exactly, because I didn't really do anything wrong. By the time Bra was born, I was in my mid teens. I was strong, a powerful warrior equipped with a fairly intelligent mind and battle experience to draw upon. I don't mean to sound like I'm bragging to anyone who may someday read this, it's just the simple truth. 

I was fully prepared to deal with whatever curves life chose to throw at me. The thing was, I no longer depended on Dad for everything. Or at least that's what he thought. Instead of being proud of me for what I had become as he once would have been, he saw me only as someone who no longer needed his time and protection. I think that struck a sore spot within him, whether he knew it or not. 

Bra, however, was everything I was not. She had no desire to become a warrior, thus needed my father's protection as I never had. I think, subconsciously, Dad needs to protect. It's in his blood to be a warrior, so in having someone to depend on him for security, it fills that void in his life that so lusts for battle and authority. When Bra was born, he suddenly had someone to protect, someone to devote his life to. Heck with his son who was perfectly capable of fending for himself, at least physically.

A few months following Bra's birth, I started to notice the changes. It began slowly; first he stopped smiling at me. Our time together decreased, this becoming more rapid as time progressed. When we didn't spend much time in the gravity chamber, he would yell at me for slacking off. Slowly but surely, I watched the pride in my father's eyes die.

Suddenly, nothing I ever did was good enough for him. I was always making mistakes, always doing something to trigger that heated temper of his, and having it blast in my direction. I can't describe how I felt at this sudden turn of the tide. All that had ever existed between us was stripped from me, and I was left stunned and bare of his fatherly affection once again. 

I mean, he had never been what you'd call a fairy-tale father, but we understood each other, and that was enough. To have even that taken away....I didn't know how to cope. I could vaguely remember what he had been like when I was younger, when he held no interest in me. I didn't want it to be like that again, so I clung desperately to what we once had even as it slipped through my fingers.

Gradually, I stopped trying. I was never going to be good enough for him, I realized. Whatever bond or closeness we had shared before had long disappeared, as snow melts in the spring. We had lost everything, and it became ever-more clear to me that there would be no going back. Never in my life had I ever felt so lonely.

It wasn't long before my mother noticed. I had tried to hide my pain, as showing weakness would only bring further criticism from "Dad". Mom has always been eerily observant, though, and she urged me to confront him about it. I argued, but everyone knows it's futile to try and argue with my mother. 

So, I took her advice. I waited until I found my father alone, and spilled out everything. Normally I would have been quaking in my boots to do so in front of him, but I figured that we were already so distant that our relationship couldn't get any worse. It's pretty difficult to lose when you've already lost everything. Or so I thought. 

That conversation was the final blow to whatever shred of our past relationship may still have existed. I think the problem was. he had already made up his mind as to what his answer was going to be before I even started speaking. He allowed me to talk, but didn't listen to a word I said.

When I was finished, he launched into his own speech that if I was discontent with his opinion of me than the fault lay with me, and me alone. He had things to do, and if I couldn't realize that a "Prince of the Saiyan race has no time for idleness" than it was my own problem. 

Vegeta climbed into bed beside Bulma, who was quietly reading. Once he had settled in under the thick comforter, however, she closed her book and turned towards him, face set in the infamous "we have to talk" expression. She wasted no time in getting to the point.

"

Why are you treating Trunks like this?" she demanded, fixing him with an icy, penetrating stare. "You'd hardly know you are his father anymore!"

Vegeta rolled over and arched one eyebrow in subtle challenge.

"I don't know what you're whining about." He replied obstinately with a cool disinterest that normally would have driven his partner mad with frustration. Now, however, Bulma did not so much as falter in her response. 

"Don't pull the indifferent act with me, Vegeta!" she snapped, eyes flashing with clear warning. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about! You openly favour Bra, you never spend time anymore with your own son, and no matter what he does you act like he's doing everything wrong, when he tries so blasted hard_ to please you! What are you trying to prove?"_

Vegeta drew himself up indignantly.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" he declared, face set with characteristic stubbornness. "The boy is becoming soft. A Saiyan warrior should not be effected by such trivial matters."

Bulma stared at him incredulously. A soft lock of turquoise hair fell charmingly over one eye, and it may have been seen as flirtatious had she not been nearly bursting with outrage and disbelief.

"Trivial?!?" _he voice rose several octaves. "I'd hardly call being ignored by your own father _trivial!!_ Maybe on your barbaric planet people were expected to live completely alone, but don't forget Trunks is half human, too, and human teenagers need a father!!"_

Vegeta snorted, and he rolled over once more, putting his back to her. 

"Like I said, you don't know what you're talking about."

He remained silent after that, and though Bulma continued to argue for a few more minutes, she soon realized the futility of her efforts. With an exasperated sigh, she turned out the lamp and lay down next to the already slumbering Saiyan Prince. 

After that, things just deteriorated even more. He never changed – I knew he wouldn't – continued on as usual, spending every free minute with Bra while I watched sullenly from the corner. Even now, I can see them down in the yard…she's picking flowers and running up to him with each one she plucks. He pretends not to care, but I can see the smile on his face every time she scampers off again. Under any other circumstance I'd be smiling too…it's touching in a way to see them together. I'm ashamed that I can get this jealous so easily, but I can't help it. I don't want to go pick flowers with dad, but it would be nice to at least get a smile once in a while, or have him talk to me as if he wasn't only doing so just to bring me down. 

I think part of the reason he likes Bra so much is because she's exactly like my mother. I can see her through Bra's every mannerism, every word. It's only logical that Dad must see the same. You know, it feels strange even to call him "Dad" anymore….. sad, isn't it? 

But I'm getting off topic. I do that a lot, don't I? So, here I am, a teenage guy with purple hair and a failure in the eyes of my father. Wonderful world, don't you think?

At first it hurt beyond anything I've ever experienced before, and pain isn't exactly something I'm a stranger to. I've had my body pummeled and beaten to a pulp by Broli, and undergone the agony of being absorbed into Majin Buu's stinking pink flesh. Yet none of that can compare with the knives which dug so ruthlessly into my being when my own father chose to ignore me. 

Eventually the pain turned into anger. I had tried for so long, toiled, worked, strained to please him, but everything I did was brushed aside or cut down, or worse yet not even noticed. Everything I had suffered turned into rage, and I would try to start fights and arguments with him, just for the opportunity to vent what had been building up so painfully inside me. Even in the worst of my outbursts, however, he hardly took notice of me. He never did see my side of the story – I doubt he even cared. 

"Trunks!" 

The lavender haired teen whirled sharply at his father's voice. He folded his arms over his chest, now out of habit whenever he spoke to the dark-haired Saiyan, bracing himself for the inevitable fight. 

Vegeta stood in a similar stance, flaming black hair and burning onyx eyes radiating impatient irritation. 

"Yes?" Trunks replied coolly, almost mockingly, his crystal blue eyes uncharacteristically cold. 

Vegeta scowled in response. 

"Don't start with me, boy!" he growled, then pointed to the knapsack slung over his son's shoulder. "Where do you think you're going?"

Trunks returned his father's heated gaze with icy challenge. 

"What's it matter to you?"

Had Vegeta still had his tail, it would have lashed back and forth in barely sustained fury. 

"Do not take that tone with me!" Now answer the question! Where are you going?"

Trunks hoisted the strap of his knapsack into a more comfortable position on his shoulder. 

"I'm going out with some friends. I happen to have a life, though I doubt you've taken the time to notice." 

Vegeta's eyes glinted dangerously. 

"Are you challenging me?" His voice was low and ominously quiet. His stare cut into Trunks like a knife, boring into him and twisting the blade to cause the most pain possible. 

Trunks gathered his will and was about to retort, but even as the words came to his lips, they dispersed unspoken. The teenager's posture lost some of its stiff defensiveness, and his gaze lowered to the ground. 

Why bother?_ He muttered silently to himself, though his thoughts held no self-pity, only regret. _He won't listen.

__

Raising eyes tainted with defeat to meet the steely gaze of his father ,Trunks shook his head wordlessly. Inwardly, his mind screamed at him to tell what he really felt, to pour out all the pain and pent up anger….but he knew better by now. Nothing was going to change, and talking would be nothing more than a waste of breath to one so obviously set in his opinions. 

No, _He told himself stubbornly, jaw set in resolution_. I've had enough of making a fool out of myself in front of him. If he doesn't care, than I don't care. 

__

Even as he thought this , however, a spark of life within him died, and Trunks found himself sinking deeper into the pool of depression he had stumbled into so long ago. 

Vegeta smirked coldly with satisfaction. 

Good." He said simply, already exiting the room, completely oblivious and indifferent to his son's pain. "Now go train – you've been wasting far too much time with your petty amusements as of late. You should be ashamed of your human behaviors."

Vegeta's lip curled on the last sentence, and he cast one scathing look over his shoulder before marching regally through the door.

Trunks stared after the swinging door even after his father had disappeared from view, eyes and soul vacant and lifeless. Turning, he dropped his knapsack noiselessly onto the tiled floor and headed silently up the stairs to his room. Closing the door behind him, turned to the window, staring blankly out at the scenery, though not really seeing anything. 

Why does it effect me every time?_ His stomach lurched with the now familiar pangs of loss. _Why can't I just get over it? Things will never be the way they used to be. GET OVER IT!! 

He spun sharply away from the window and kicked savagely at a nearby chair, the wood splintering and cracking on impact. His demeanor drastically changed, Trunks' eyes blazed with hurt and fury. 

"I hate you!" he hissed through clenched teeth, though inwardly he wept. "I hate you!" 

Well, I'm tired of trying to fight. I'm tired of putting myself last for him, and having my efforts stomped on a moment later. I'm tired of watching while he grows so close to my sister, doing things with her that he would never even think of doing with me, even when we did share a good relationship. I'm tired of always having to defend myself, of getting so worked up over situations which are never going to change. I'm tired of everything. 

I'm beyond the point of caring now. Have you ever been there? That cold, empty void which becomes your life when you've been hurt so much that you can't even think about it anymore? Let me tell you, it's not a nice place to be. If you haven't been to where I am now, consider yourself lucky and keep it that way, because take it from someone who knows, it sucks. I've never felt so alone as I do now, with not even my anger left to keep me going. And the strange part is, I don't care about that either. I don't care about anything – I don't think I can anymore. 

All I ever wanted was to make my father proud. He used to be my hero – I wonder if he even remembers. 

~~*~~

A/N: I urge anyone who took the time to read this to listen to that song, "Perfect" by Simple Plan. That song contains all the pain, emotion, and meaning I so tried and failed to portray in this fic. So please, listen to the song. I swear it was written for this scenario!


End file.
